


Penny Candy

by MixterGlacia



Series: RvB Wing Fics [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixterGlacia/pseuds/MixterGlacia
Summary: Command has a new mission for The Meta and Agent Washington.





	Penny Candy

Perfectly within standard deviations. That’s how Delta had described him. This level of anger was totally acceptable. The Meta is just watching from over the roll cage of the car, head ever so slightly cocked to one side. There’s a quiet, unstated challenge happening. Like most of their disagreements in the past. Either one explodes or they just glare until something is fixed. That too, had been normal according to Delta. For them at least.

 

Not that this was normal to the scattered group of prison staff milling around. One of Wash’s old transport guards wanders past, doing a double-take. The old sparrow hawk balks at the two.

 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me!” She protests to the others at her side. “Command seriously went with it?!” Her face was patchy, or the half not hidden by her partial visor. It was almost amusing. Almost.

 

The Meta lets out a faint hiss, wavering at the edges. Wash shoots it a look.

 

“Like some frail old hummer’s gonna last out there.” She grouses, lip curling slightly. “Doesn’t even have both w-” Her words devolve into a wet gurgle when something strongly resembling a straight up brick smashes in her teeth.

 

Wash’s head whips around so quickly you’d expect it to snap. The Meta is dusting off its gloves. When it catches onto the judgmental way Wash is appraising it, a thin questioning sound rings through their private communication feed.

 

“Don’t do that.” The older man snaps, finally getting into the car and clicking the buckle into place. He waits for the owl to follow suit. “That was nothing. Even Caboose had worse things to say.”

 

Another curious noise.

 

“That big rock dove with the standard issue blue. Y’know, childlike, shot his team all the time? You got Delta off of him.”

 

A growl.

 

“Yeah, that one.” Wash nods as the Meta uncomfortably settles into the passenger seat. “Buckle up.” He rolls his eyes at the offended snort. “No. You are in  _ my  _ car,  _ you  _ have to use the belts.” A dry huff. “ _ Dude. _ I don’t care if we’re in power armor. You buckle the damn belt or you get to walk there.” 

 

The owl hisses under its breath but complies after a few more moments.

 

The remaining guards are watching the pair as if they’ve gone off the deep end. As they pull away, Wash notices that the small crowd they’d gathered isn’t paying heed to the hawk groaning painfully on the floor. For now at least.

 

“I, uh…” Wash coughs lightly before flooring ot. The two peel out of the prison motor pool, chasing the last rays of light. They get into squabbles over the radio every so often until they agree to just shut it off around the two hour mark.

 

At hour three, the Meta pulls off its helmet to get some air. Something tugs uncomfortably in Wash and he pulls over at the next isolated spot. He gives some bullshit excuse about needing to take a piss and wanders for a while. Wash doesn’t really have a goal in mind, he just...he needed space. This wasn’t going to be an easy job when he could look over and see those eyes. Eyes that had been clouded with smoke for so long. Now they were nearly clear again. Nearly.

 

When Wash returned to where he left the Meta, finding that it’s dedicated to take the time to clean its wings. Or try at least. After Sigma, the Meta had let its feathers fall into neglect, and the motions were clunky, ineffective, and awkward. Wash huffs.

 

“Look Meta.” A wing is tucked down so it can look over at the older man. There’s a new scar along the back of its head where the tattoo had been. Wash hesitates at the sight of it. “...I appreciate the concern, but you don’t have to play the protective type like that. I’ll be fine.”

 

Finally, it speaks in actual sentences. Well, ones that Wash recognizes at least.  _ “Wanted to.” _

 

“Just ‘cause? Or just because of what she said.” Challenges Wash, who reluctantly pulls his own helmet off so he can shovel an MRE down as quickly as he could.

 

_ “Both.” _

 

“Damn it, don’t start defending my honor, Meta.” He pauses to sneak in a forkful of who really knows what, swallowing thickly.

 

_ “No. Wanted to.”  _ It snaps, settling nearby with food of its own. Some small tin that smells like heaven compared to what Wash had. Something must have given the man away because the can is being offered to him.

 

“I’ll be  _ fine _ . In both cases.” Wash’s small head crest flattens against his hair, a thread of old self-consciousness winding its way through his head. Even if he’s known the owl for years, being out of even just his helmet like this is shaking him. He changes tack. “Where’d you even get that brick, anyway?”

 

A shrug.

 

“Brilliant.” Wash tries not to notice how the Meta’s whole frame relaxes at that, as if it’s been waiting years just to hear that dry half-serious humor again. They fall into silence again as they focus on eating before moving on to clean the arsenal command had issued them. Wash almost thinks he’s dodged the conversation bullet.

 

_ “Does it hurt?” _

 

Wash blinks, glancing over at the Meta. Its back is to him. “Uh...gotta be more specific.”

 

_ “The wing. Hurts or…?” _

 

The older man reloads his preferred firearm with a little more force than strictly required. “Yeah.”

 

_ “Killed her. Right?” _

 

“Duh. How do you think the rock dove got Delta?” Wash states bitterly, switching his focus to sharpening his combat knife.

 

The Meta’s hiss drips with hatred.  _ “Good. Deserved worse.” _

 

“I blew up her body.”

 

_ “Did that for everyone.”  _ The owl tosses its head back, slipping the domed helmet back on.  _ “She deserved to suffer.”  _

 

“We all suffered too much already Mai-” Wash stops himself, teeth clicking audibly as he closes his mouth. The Meta is waiting for the next move intently. “Take first shift.”

 

The Meta nods. It doesn’t press the issue and that somehow bothers Wash more.

 

The older man keeps his knife close that night.

 

* * *

 

 

They drive for days. It’s disturbing how easily they fall back into a routine again. One that shadows their former habits but with more uncertainty hanging over the two. At the end of their second week, they were both on the last straw. The day had been exhausting and frustrating all for the most mundane of reasons. Wash was ready to lash out at just about anything. The Meta is perched a short distance away, still fumbling its way through preening.

 

“No, just-” Wash snatches up the scrap of fabric the owl was using to clean. The Meta hisses out a warning. “-shut up and let me do it.”

 

_ “Don’t need help.”  _ it growls low in its throat, trying to retrieve the cloth.

 

Wash, in turn, holds it out of the way, glaring. “After this time, you can do whatever, but I’d be shocked if you didn’t have a village of tiny aliens living in there. It’s fucking nasty. Just let me do this for you.”

 

The owl watches him warily. Wash can see the Meta weighing the options laid before itself. It lets out a steady sigh, then nods.

 

Before Wash can get to work, it holds up a hand to stop him.  _ “Only if you let me do the same for you.” _

 

Wash balks at the suggestion, a no already on his lips, but he stops. There’s this quiet longing nestled in his chest. Realistically he hadn’t had attention like this offered in years. If he really crunched the numbers, probably not since Sigma had shown up. “...Just be careful with my primaries.” Wash quips, shoving at the Meta’s shoulder. “Now turn.”

 

They settle into the task of grooming, listening to the sounds of the night around them.

 

Wash focuses all of his energy into the task, going along each broad feather, cleaning out any hidden pockets of grime he came across. He quietly warns the Meta before removing broken ones, a small pile accumulating at his side. It was such a damn shame that Sigma had allowed them to get so beaten up like this. Maine always had the most impressive wings in the group. Wash wasn’t biased in the least. He was just correcting the mistake.

 

The Meta is staring off into space for most of it. Then,  _ “Hey.” _

 

“What. I’m going as fast as I can, Okay?”

 

_ “Missed this.”  _ it rumbles so softly Wash almost didn’t catch it.  _ “Missed you.”  _

 

Wash’s hands stutter over the secondaries. “I-...” he bites down on his tongue and feeds the Meta a lie. “Sorry, but I can’t say the feeling is mutual.”

 

He can feel the weight of the silence on him as he works.

 

_ “And if I wanted to start over?” _

 

Wash sets the cloth aside, laughing dryly. “Then you’d better start elsewhere.”

 

This seems to cut the Meta more deeply than Wash had anticipated. It flinches away, wings fanning out to shield itself. The feathers shift as it breathes for a moment.  _ “...thought so.” _ it hummed before turning back, motions stiff and mechanical. It gathers the cleaning cloth from where Wash had set it.  _ “Now you.” _

 

Fuck, Wash had expected to have more time to make an excuse to get out of that. He grumbles under his breath as his fingers pull at the clasps for his chestplate. He sets it aside, intentionally leaving his helmet on. It was a glorified security blanket at this point, as the Meta could easily maim him, regardless.

 

He closes his eyes at the first light brush of the Meta’s gloves. This was too much, too close to how it was before. He expects clumsy hands and feathers catching in the plating of the armor, but he’s surprised. The Meta may not recall how to properly clean its own wings, but it handles Wash perfectly.

 

The owl folds the cloth over itself until the fabric holds shape. Carefully it eases it into the gaps of Wash’s feathers, lightly brushing the dust of the road off. Wash can remember teaching Maine how to do this and his chest aches with the familiarity. After a moment, he finds himself relaxing into the touch.

 

Time slips by, and Wash is nodding off. He’s startled awake when he feels the Meta’s massive palm settle over the stump of his missing wing. “What the h-”

 

_ “Wanted to kill her.”  _ It rattles softly. The rough kevlar ghosts over what sparse feathering remains.  _ “He wouldn’t let me go. Even after we got you to safety, he had other targets in mind.”  _

 

Wash doesn’t (can’t) respond, but his good wing eases out of the tense posture he’d been holding it in.

 

_ “You deserve better.” _

 

The older man’s helmet turns slightly to observe the Meta.

 

_ “Than this.”  _ it runs a thumb over the scarred end of the stump.  _ “Than prison...Than me.” _

 

“Meta-”

 

_ “Why do you call me that?” _

 

Wash freezes like a deer in the sights of a hunter. He can’t do anything but stare at the owl.

 

_ “I can’t stop you, but...I like Maine more.” _

 

He can practically feel icy fingers seize around his thundering heart. “I call you that because...because I fear what happens if the Meta really is gone. What happens if you are just Maine?” 

 

_ “That’s up to you, Wash.”  _ it...he lets his hand fall, reflexively flapping his reddish wings before folding them down again.  _ “I’m done. You can get your armor.” _

 

When it comes time to sleep again, Wash clings to the hilt of his blade even more tightly than before. He puts his back against the wall, shivering despite the heat. Sleep doesn’t come easily.

 

* * *

 

 

Wash’s breathing is ragged, the armors cooling vents kicked into overdrive. This desert was awful. The pair had huddled against a chunk of what looked like it had been a wall in a past life, taking advantage of the patch of shade. The sad excuse for a medic is within sight but out of earshot as Wash receives a call from Command.

 

“Agent Washington here, go ahead Command.”

 

Maine rattles curiously. Wash swats at him half-heartedly when he leans over, trying to listen to the message over the older mans radio.

 

**“There’s been a change in plans, Agents.”**

 

“I am  _ not _ going back to prison because you can’t make up your m-” Wash snaps before the communications officer cuts him off.

 

**“No, nothing like that. We have a different assignment for you both.”** Wash glances over at Maine for a moment as they continue.  **“We’ve got a pair of mercenaries on our payroll that we need you to assist. Tie up any loose ends and head to the coordinates in your HUDS. That is all. Good luck Agents. Command out.”**

 

The hummer is left staring at the sand collecting around the edges of his boots. He wonders to himself what they were doing about Epsilon, but finds he really doesn’t give enough of a shit to care. He turns to Maine again. “Go put the medic out of his misery, they re-assigned us.”

 

* * *

 

The new job wasn’t too terribly far away, which Wash suspected was the reason they’d been selected to carry it out. It was for the best he supposed, he’d had a bad feeling about the previous mission since it had started.

 

Maine had spotted the shimmer waiting on the cliff first. The owl grabbed one of their rifles and pointed it  at the shape, warning that it had been found out. It slinks away as the pair pulls into the rendezvous location. They both kept visibly armed as they hopped out of the car, scanning the area intently. A slim man wearing steel and orange armor sauntered up to them with no fear in his stance at all.

 

“Well I’ll be  _ damned _ , they sent real deal Freelancers. Probably the only ones left on their payroll, hn?” Wash can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. “You boys can call me Felix. My partner in totally-not-crime says you two spotted him already. He’s pissed but he’ll be over in a jiffy.”

 

After a moment, Wash snorts. “Totally not crime, huh?”

 

“If you take out the totally not, yeah basically.” Felix sounds giddy, as if he’s not used to being humored. “Lemme take a guess, you’re...Florida?”

 

Maine barks out a rattly laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s a shift in the light before a tall fellow with sage trim and a wingspan quite possibly larger than Maine’s melts into view.

 

“Wrong.” He grunts, voice deep and heavily filtered. More so than Wash had anticipated. “If you had read the files like you’ve been told many times over, you’d know that’s Agent Washington.” he inclines his helmet to the owl. “And I believe you are the Meta.”

 

A snarl.

 

“Maine suffices for him, thanks.” Wash translates, staying calm in the face of what he realizes is a fucking harpy eagle.

 

“I see.” The man nods carefully, appraising them. “You may refer to me as Locus.”

 

Wash doesn’t judge. Let’s face it, of all the four men, Felix had the most standard code name of them all. Realistically, it must’ve been a code name, because in their line of work they all had to keep safe. The only soldiers he’d met using their real names were the sim troopers.

 

“So where do you need us?” Wash questions after a momentary pause.

 

“For now, just get settled. We will need to get supplies set up. This mission is going to be long.” Locus gestures with his sniper rifle. “By the way, Agent Maine, how did you spot me?”

 

Wash waits for Maine even if he knows the answer. He listens to the rumbling hisses before giving the reply of, “He used cloaking for years. He knows what to look for. Also you were standing in front of the sun when he noticed, and it looks too orange if you see it through active cloaks.”

 

“...oh.”

 

Felix is laughing like a maniac behind the eagle. “Oh my  _ god _ I already love these two!” he shrieks, while Locus is grumbling under his breath. “C’mooon Locus~” the man switched to a whine at the drop of a hat. “Don’t be pissy because you got beaten at your own game!”

 

“You’re one to talk.” is the only response Locus gives before sulking off.

 

After Felix recovers from another fit of giggles, he straightens up and beckons the Freelancers to follow in his wake. “Don’t mind Locus, he’s just got a case of the perma-bitch. Let’s just get you set up at what passes for base camp here. We’re aiming to move on in a week, maybe two, so don’t get too comfortable.” The mercenary steps lightly as he guides them and despite his cheery facade, Wash and Maine both recognize that this is a very dangerous man.

 

After being around Project Freelancer for so long, they were quick to pick up on the body language of real threats. If anything, Felix set Wash more on edge than Locus, as the eagle made no attempts to veil how much of a risk he posed to be near. Wash just needed more information before he could consider relaxing here.

 

* * *

 

 

They’d moved to their current base after three weeks. Command had fed them out-dated intelligence, and the delay had made Felix (The all of them, By Proxy) highly agitated and prone to more outbursts than normal.

 

The youngest of the four, Felix actually reminded Wash of a less surly South. The wild mood swings particularly echoed hers. As long as things were going how Felix wanted, it was just fine. However, things seldom went his way.

 

“Do you just...let him go until he’s done?” Wash pressed Locus. They had been ordered to stay in the confines of their meager sleeping quarters until Command cleared the path for their infiltration. It was the third day of being locked in and it was whipping Felix into a rage.

 

“I leave for a few hours. Under normal circumstances.” The eagle said before returning to his data pad.

 

“Wash!” Felix barks from the storage area. When the eldest comes around the corner he’s startled to find the slim mercenary in nothing but jeans. He wasn’t even aware they’d brought civvies. 

 

He also realizes that Felix is winged. Much like Wash, he seemed to prefer to keep them under his armor, though most certainly not for the same reasons.

 

“...You’re a shrike.” Wash murmurs, shoulders jumping when the man crowds him into a corner.

 

“A  _ bored _ shrike. Entertain me.” Felix’s feathering dusts over his face, distinctive eye markings making him look elegant, lines running parallel to the cut of his hair. At least in Project Freelancer was wasn’t the only non-predatory species.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Let’s have fun.” Felix is grinning as if the older man had already agreed to his terms. Judging by the fingers hooking into the hip seams of Wash’s armor, he probably didn’t take the possibility of a negative reaction into account.

 

Wash catches the mercenary off guard when he shoves Felix off, taking the chance to get away from the corner. “I’m not interested in that kind of fun.”

 

The shrike’s expression gives Wash the distinct impression that Felix is strongly thinking about flat out stabbing the freelancer. His lips curl into a scowl. “Why the fuck not?!”

 

“I’m ace.” Wash responds more smoothly than he’d anticipated. He hadn’t stumbled like the last time he’d explained this.

 

Felix looks crestfallen, wings drooping, “Seriously?”

 

“Seriously. Maine’s ace too, just save yourself the trouble of a broken jaw and don’t pull this with him.” Wash can hear the owl grunt from where he’d laid down earlier.

 

“Fucking  _ lame _ , all of you. You two are ace and Locus is grey.  _ Boring. _ ” 

 

“This coming from a demi-romantic bisexual.” The other mercenary offers in a deadpan tone, not moving from his chair.

 

“ _ Lame! _ ” Felix snaps, wings flaring up. “Besides, this isn’t about me you dick!”

 

Wash tries his luck at gaining more distance, but is reeled back by Felix, who wraps his arms around the older man’s neck. “Nuh uh. You stay right here. Just thought of something better. What are you?”

 

“I just said-”

 

“Species. I mean what species are you. I haven’t even seen your face somehow and Locus just keeps telling me to read your stupid file.” The shrike is purring right into the audio input on Wash’s helmet. He sends an alert to Maines text communication feed and hears the owl’s feet thud dully as he makes his way over.

 

“Hands  _ off _ for starters.” Wash orders, peeling Felix’s arms away and weaving smoothly under Maines arm and wings to get back into the central room. He can feel Locus staring from where he sits. “If you have the information on file, just read it and l-”

 

Felix scrambles past Maine before he can be boxed in and interrupts. “Just  _ show _ me.”

 

“Not a chance, Felix.”

 

“C’mon Wash we’re gonna be working together for at least a year, just gimme something!” the shrike whines.

 

“Pay me.” Wash snorts before he really thinks it through. He knows he’s in trouble when he sees the flash of too-white teeth.

 

“Let’s start talking numbers then.” Felix chuckles, already searching for his holo-wallet.

 

Wash is stock still, then feels a familiar hand settle against his shoulder. Maine trills softly,  _ “Only if you want to and for no less than 500.” _

 

“1000 credits.” is said unintentionally but it already hangs in the air.

 

“That include losing the armor from the waist up~?” Felix questions, movements smooth as silk.

 

“1500.”

 

“Done.” Felix is grinning so wide it threatens to split his face. He dials something into his holo-wallet and it beeps before depositing a credit chip in his palm. He waves it tauntingly at Wash. “Get to it, Wash.”

 

The eldest of them scowls under his helmet before reaching up and sliding it off. He hands it off to Maine, who takes it for him. Both of them ignore the way Felix is gawking.

 

“You look  _ nothing _ like how I imagined.”

 

“What’d you expect?” Wash huffs as he detaches his gauntlets and shoulder pauldrons.

 

“White and blonde.” Locus states dryly. “The files-”

 

“The files aren’t god, Locus. Shut up.” Felix snarls, wings snapping out before relaxing again. “ _ I  _ expected you to be younger.”

 

“You and everyone else.” Wash sighs, pulling his chestplate away from himself, not caring where it fell to. He refuses to look at the mercenaries. His arms fold over his chest self-consciously.

 

Felix skirts around behind him quickly. His dark eyes glint in the odd lighting that made Wash’s feathers shimmer vibrantly. He reaches out to touch and is swiftly wrangled by Maine.

 

“Fuck, layoff asshole!” he yelped, squirming his way out of Maine’s grip, nearly face planting. 

 

The owl is growling deep in the back of his throat, stance making it clear that he wouldn’t hesitate to tear Felix’s arm off if he tried again.

 

The young mercenary in turn flips him off before looking Wash over again, smoothing his hair back into place. It’s almost like he’s a used car that Felix is interested in buying.

 

“Speechless?” Wash mocks.

 

“Impressed, actually. Those are some damn gnarly scars.” The shrike corrects before turning on his heel. He trots over to his bunk, flopping into it dramatically, leaving a stunned Wash in his wake. 

 

“Well worth the price of admission.” Felix adds.

 

* * *

 

 

The mission had dragged into a year and a half but it was done. The mercenaries had offered them a permanent job alongside the two, but the freelancers needed time to consider it. They accepted the contact details before the group parted ways. Afterwards, they’d used the earnings Wash gained from winning wagers with Felix and used it for a well earned holiday.

 

They were watching the stars from the window of the cabin they had rented high up in the mountains of an earth-like colony. Wash cradled a mug of hot chocolate in his lap. Steam curls up lazily before dissipating into the air.

 

He was afraid. His good wing flinches.

 

“...Maine?”

 

A growl.

 

“What if I wanted to start over?”

 

Silence. The chair squeaks under the owl’s shifting weight. Wash’s partner, his backup is watching him with keen, clear eyes.  _ “I’d like that.” _

 

Wash takes a trembling breath.

 

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on a rolllll


End file.
